


Bad Ideas

by days4daisy



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extra Treat, Fist Fights, M/M, Scars, Season/Series 03, Trick or Treat: Treat, questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Three is no stranger to bad ideas. But this? Hell, this may be the worst of the bunch.





	Bad Ideas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themisto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themisto/gifts).



Three is no stranger to bad ideas.

Exhibit A. He thought running a job with Tanner and his crew would be awesome. Surrogate dads drop out of the sky all the time, what could possibly go wrong?

Exhibit B. He tried to swindle this crime boss Tveti on Kafrig-7. Pair of loaded dice and a marked deck of holo cards. It took thirty-six hours for Three to talk the guy into letting him go, and he never did get his pants back.

Exhibit C. Back before Four turned into that asshole Ryo, Three talked him into sparring with real blades. Many drinks were involved. Three still has the scar.

But this? Hell, this may be the worst idea of the bunch.

Three doesn't want to stop though, even with the wall hard on his spine and a dinky emergency light flickering above his head. Something drips a few paces away, pat-patting into a puddle of who-knows-what. Three doesn't remember how this all started, he was just warm and wired, and the bastard looked downright  _fuckable._ There was fighting and shoving, then things swerved, went crazy.

Now they’re in this supply room, Three’s back lit up like a holiday. Kierken’s mouth is sore and sweet, and Three can’t stop kissing it. Silver lining, Kierken isn't stopping either. Smug GA piece of shit. Kierken's pants sit low on his waist, hard lines v-ed towards his crotch. The ridges of his stomach are firm and biteable, and Three hates him more, tossing his shirt on the floor.

“Was that necessary?” Kierken asks. Like he's too good for a merc like Marcus Boone. Like he isn't ex-GA now. Hell, Kierken has to be higher on the Authority’s shit list than the Raza!

“Pretty fucking necessary,” Three mutters.

Kierken is done listening to him. Three is shoved against the wall, and he groans. It hurts, and it's good, frantic, fucking _outstanding_. Kierken must feel how hard Three is. He’s not hiding a thing, jutting his hips, getting the full weight of Kierken's body. He’s long, and a lot handsier than Three expected. Body searches, no doubt, chief inspector and all. Three has something for him to cop a feel of...

Three snickers, he's downright giddy. He's getting one over on Kierken tonight. Doesn’t matter that the son of a bitch is doing the exact same thing to him.

***

The pub is going for that ‘atmospheric’ lighting. Dull blue strips cast everything into shadow. There aren’t many people on R&R tonight. Whole station is pretty quiet, which suits Three just fine. They’ve had enough excitement these past few months.

Three's comb of the bar's occupants doesn't produce any redheads, so he broadens his search, considers a brunette with nice legs and a blonde with a low halter. He pauses on the guy at the counter. Tousled hair and a clean, serious face. Long and strong, Three's type, totally. He looks familiar, but Three swears he would remember those lips, and - oh shit, it's _him_.

Kierken nurses something the color of copper in a glass. From here, Three only sees his profile, downcast and pensive. He swirls his drink around like he’s reading tea leaves at the bottom. No other GA stooges lurking that Three can see. Kierken’s no slouch, but Three has his guns safely holstered to his thighs. Lulu and Pip will get him back to the Raza if they come to blows.

Dude’s losing his touch, Three thinks with a grin. Doesn’t mean Three should poke a sleeping bear, but he’s never been good at common sense.

Three downs what’s left of his whiskey blend and hops off the bar stool. A second later, he’s sliding onto the seat next to his old pal. “Try anything, and I’ll put a bullet through you faster than you can breathe.”

“Oh,” Kierken mutters, “it’s you.” It's nowhere close to the response Three’s badass intro deserved.

Three huffs, covering disappointment, and shakes his empty glass in the direction of the bartender. “course it’s me,” he grumbles. “What do you want?”

“Nothing from you. Unless,” Kierken knocks his head back, and the rest of his drink with it, “you’re buying next round.”

He's not making sense. Has Three missed something? Undercover agents staking the bar? Is the GA swarming the Raza’s hangar right now?

Three settles on disbelief. “You think _I’m_ getting _you_ a drink?”

“Fair,” Kierken allows. He gets the bartender's attention and hikes a thumb at Three. “Put his on my tab.” Three’s frown turns to deeper confusion. Kierken doesn’t notice, draining half his refill in one go. “It’s a waste,” Kierken mumbles.

“Downing it like that? Hell yeah, shit’s expensive,” Three remarks. “You gotta nurse it. Drag the buzz out a bit.”

Kierken smiles, bitter, with teeth. “A few months ago, I would have killed for this. Marcus Boone, all alone.”

“I want you to know how creepy that sounds,” Three informs him. “Oh yeah, and you’re a hypocrite. Killing to find a killer, nice job outta you.”

“Murder is relative when it comes to the Authority, isn’t it?” Kierken spits the words like they've slighted him personally.

The venom in his voice holds Three's interest. “You and the GA ain’t on the best of terms, huh?”

Kierken turns to face him head-on. “You could say that.”

Three stares at Kierken’s face, it's the first time tonight he's been able to see everything. The left side is a mess, pocked with burn scars. His left eye shines unnaturally, a little too sharp, way too still. Synthetic, no doubt about it. It’s not moving, so it’s not seeing anything. “Shit,” Three mutters.

Kierken drains the rest of his drink and musters a somewhat respectable grimace. “That about sums it up,” he says.

Months have passed since Anders dragged Three’s half-dead carcass off EOS-7. Before Ryo's double-cross, Kierken was hot on their trail like a jilted lover. They didn't hear a peep from him after the explosion. In hindsight, Three should have wondered what happened to the guy, if he made it off EOS-7 alive. But, to be fair, the Raza has had their own problems since then. Ferrous, the colonies, aliens made of black goo...

“So, GA dumped their golden boy, huh?”

Kierken shrugs. “Not a bad severance.”

Three chuckles and swishes a mouthful of whiskey. He gets more liquor than dilute in this gulp, it burns real nice going down. “Couldn’t take it after the blast?" he guesses. "New lease on life, almost getting blown to bits like that?”

“No.” The clipped response leaves too many questions. Three knows Kierken's type. A burned face isn't enough to break a son of a bitch like him. Something's up.

He hails down the bar. “Next one’s on me,” he tells Kierken. “Just got paid. I can swing it.”

Kierken knows what Three means by his one-eyed glare. “Who did you hit?”

“C'mon man, I don't kiss and tell." Three grins. “But let’s put it this way. You’d approve.”

Kierken dismisses Three with a sniff. “I doubt that.” He thinks he looks away fast enough to hide his smile, but Three sees it plain as day. It looks like trouble, and trouble is Three's weakness.

Two will rip him a new one if she catches wind of this. But the boss ain’t here right now, so...

***

By round five, Three decides he’s an idiot for letting his guard down with this chump. He also decides it's been a long time since he’s had a decent fuck, and fixing this problem is way more important. This isn't the first time Three has thought about the guy. Different slant to those ideas though, more about revenge after his narrow escape from arrest. Lots of guns in those daydreams, with some rope and a sweet, heat-sensored prison gag thrown in.

Kierken looks at what’s left of his drink, mouth pursed and pensive, a hint of a flush on his face. The look is out of left field, and more than a little hot. Three props an elbow on the bar. “So, you got a solo cruiser or what?”

“Hitched a ride.”

Three grins. “You goddamn freeloader. Would have been on your own tail a few months ago.”

Kierken huffs a rueful chuckle. “We do what we have to."

“Surprised you haven’t asked about any of it. Iriden-3. EOS-7.”

“I don’t need to,” Kierken says. “I knew as soon as the reactor hit critical. I knew Lin was right, and Varrick." He sounds miserable, and the puzzle starts to take shape.

Kierken was so fixed on the Raza that he didn't see the sabatoge right under his nose. Maybe the obsession is why the GA assigned him to EOS-7 in the first place. Another officer may have caught on to Niemann's plot, or questioned Ryo's motives before it was too late. Not Chief Inspector Kierken. The moment he knew the Raza's crew was on board, there was no chance he would stop the corporate meltdown. The GA played their own watchdog like a fiddle. It's hilarious, frankly.

Three clears his throat for appearances. “So, you put yourself back together and started asking the wrong questions.”

“Like I said,” Kierken mutters, eyeing his empty glass, “it was a good severance.”

“Hey, you’re alive and free, man.” Three toasts Kierken with his empty tumbler.

He doesn't buy this kicked puppy act. A cop like Kierken doesn't give up the hunt because the payroll he's on is corrupt. He lusts for truth like Three lusts for a good fuck, and Three has everything Kierken wants. Ferrous, Dwarf Star, Mikkei, Traugott. Three has answers, but this bastard is too proud to ask, even now. Three revels in his newfound power, hands tucked lazily behind his head. “We should get out of here,” he suggests.

The sudden change makes Kierken frown. “And go where?”

“Someplace that isn’t here.” Three eyes the near-empty bar. The lone remaining bartender glowers at him in return. “Heard there’s more fun on the cargo floor."

“All legal, I’m sure.” Amusement crinkles the scarred side of Kierken’s face.

Three shrugs. “Unless you're planning on turning in early. They keep you Authority boys on a curfew?”

“And what about the rest of your crew?” Kierken asks.

Three grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Of course.” Kierken sighs but slides off his bar stool. “Lead the way.”

Three didn’t think he'd go for it.

Shrugging, surprised, Three stalks to the door. He half-expects Kierken to try to take him out from behind, but he just follows quietly. It doesn't feel right.

The bar is the last open store front on this level. The other shops are gated and blacked out, and their footsteps are the only sound on the metal floor.

Three notes the difference in Kierken’s stride, a slight limp to the gait that used to be long and confident. He wonders if it hurts, or if it reminds him that the current corporate unrest is his fault for screwing up EOS-7. Three feels a little bad for him. Or maybe it's the booze...yeah, has to be the booze.

“If we do this, you gotta leave the cop at home, all right?”

“Are we going or not?” Kierken mutters.

***

The cargo level of Yseni-42 moonlights as a late night hub. Seedy night club, gambling, illegal trades. The usual fun to jazz up an otherwise boring layover space station.

Kierken ignores the smoke from restricted vapes and the fights raging on opposite sides of the hub. He looks downright natural among the lowest scum in the universe; the scars on his face help on this front. They’re even more startling in the low light, a flare of red pulsing through his synthetic eye. A few passers wince at Kierken's face, must remind them of some poor sap who didn’t escape whatever botched job in time.

Or maybe they remember him vaguely, a ghost of the bastard cop who almost put them away for life. But they all look away, it can't be him, no GA would dare show their face here.

Kierken’s a natural at gambling, apparently. Blanks, Hearts Wild, Zeros Down - all wins. He even cleans up at old fashioned roulette. And he does it with a professional nod, no gloating at the glaring faces who scowl when he grabs his winnings. Three plays for awhile, but it’s a show that’s too much fun to watch. He folds and watches the GA’s best school scumbags who spent a lifetime learning how to cheat.

The lights dim by the time they steal two seats along the back bar. Three’s laughing about the sweeps. “The hell, man? You have a side job this whole time? Part-time card swindler?”

“It's a system like any other,” Kierken explains. “I learned to play, same as anyone here.” He looks out at the crowd, fingers bridged. “I recognize most of them. Arrested a few myself back in the day.”

“Good times,” Three quips. “Got the itch to whip out that badge, huh? Take everyone here in one go?”

Kierken scoffs. “You’re enjoying this.” He’s quiet and accusing, and Three revels in both.

“Hell yeah.” Three toasts the sentiment and knocks back his glass. The liquor is cold on his tongue and warm down his throat. He feels light-headed enough to start sliding down slippery slopes. “You were a Grade-A pain in the ass,” he states.

Kierken smiles, a twitch of the unscarred side of his mouth. “Is that all I was?”

“You gave us a run for our money,” he admits. “Didn’t take much to get one over on most of the GA. They’re too slow. Not you. You were...interesting.”

“Interesting?” Kierken raises a brow at the choice of words.

“Interesting,” Three echoes, and motions down the bar for another drink.

He pauses to appreciate the latest fight at the end of the counter. Busted glass over a skull. Blood and fists flying. Cheers from opposite ends of the room. Kierken doesn’t show the same mirth as Three, but he isn’t disapproving either. Calm in the face of a blow-up that would have had him drawing badge and arms a few months ago.

He's damaged as hell, and Three loves him like this. Where did all his faith in the GA get him? Down here, chilling with a member of the notorious Raza? Kierken got what he deserved. He's a joke, a total bust! “You should come back with me,” he suggests.

It blurts out before Three can think. Kierken looks as surprised as he feels. “To the Raza?”

“Yeah.” It keeps on coming. “You can’t make a living hitching rides with randos. The GA paid you off for now, but you know you've got dirt on them. They'll come after you. Safety in numbers, you know?”

“Safety.” Kierken frowns. “With you.”

“Or hey, get yourself blown to bits by your ex-boss. Your call, bud.” Three snatches his latest drink from the bartender, drains it in one gulp. He winces at the burn, it fuzzes pleasantly along the edges of his brain. He turns a grin on Kierken. “I kinda like this. Me, holding one over on you for once.”

Kierken rolls his eyes. “Is that what you call this?”

“I got an offer you can’t refuse,” Three points out. “What do you have, huh? A ticket out of here with another low life? You trust some scum you paid off over us?" Three smiles, laying it on thick. "Besides, pout all you want, you want answers. Ferrous. Mikkei. Traugott. We can get you what you want.”

“I’m not joining the Raza,” Kierken states.

It sounds final, but Three doesn't care. He wants to see the rest of the crew's faces when he hauls this motherfucker on board. Will they let Kierken roam free from the start? Nah, they'll lock him up in the infirmary until he gives up intel on the Authority. He'll have to earn their trust.

And Kierken will, because he’s stubborn as hell. He’ll be stewing the entire time, pacing in his cell. Kierken will do it. He'll draw guns on those GA bastards, the corps, and anyone else who tries to put themselves above the universe. At the end of the day, they all want the same thing.

Three wants Kierken on the Raza. He’s made up his mind, and Kierken’s opinion doesn’t mean one goddamn thing to him. Three is drunk too, maybe, but it’s still the right call. A guy’s allowed to make the right call and be drunk at the same time.

He runs the toe of a boot up Kierken’s leg. A hard swipe of rubber, pushing his jeans up. Kierken, to his credit, never flinches. He just frowns at the touch, and at Three.

“So what you’re saying,” Three coaxes, “is you’re not angling to get on my ship. You’re just messing with me cause you like my company.” Kierken regards him with soured bafflement. Guard dog like Kierken isn’t used to being one step behind.

Three waits for the guy to recoil, get all pissed off and pretty in the face. Kierken just drums long fingers on the counter. “Is this what you’ve been playing at?” he wonders.

It’s dismissive, and infuriating. Three scowls. He needs a good comeback, something to put this guy in his place. “That a yes?” he grumbles. It falls way short.

Kierken blows him off with rolled eyes. “More likely than me on the Raza, I suppose.” He gulps down the remaining contents of his glass. Seconds later, Kierken is heading for the door.

Three follows. His, “Hey, wait a minute-” drowns under shouts and guffaws from nearby tables. He doubles his steps, crossing through bursts of smoke and the blink of low lights to the outer hall. It's dark and empty, hollowed out like a cave made of metal.

Three catches up in an abandoned stretch of open ship. Even with the limp, Kierken moves fast enough to make Three work for it.

Three shoves Kierken on a wall and pins him with an arm across the throat. The bastard never blinks, scarred side of his face like mountain peaks from long range. “Go on,” Kierken says. “You’ve been waiting for this.”

Three scowls; Kierken is the one who’s been waiting. Chief Inspector Kyle Kierken, the guy who knows his criminals better than they know themselves. He gets in his targets’ heads, knows where they’re going next, what they’re going to do. He re-lives their crimes, pulls the trigger along with them.

Three has kept Kierken up at night. He can picture the guy lying awake in whatever fancy-ass quarters the GA made up for him. Thinking about Three, cursing, trying to go back to sleep. Kierken is obsessed with the Raza, and obsessed with Three. His good eye pierces, sharp and excited.

Does he think Three will blow him away with Lulu and Pip? Is he expecting a punch? Or the knife he no doubt knows Three keeps in his boot? What should Three do to a guy who’s wanted him for so long? They’re both breathing hard and whiskey-warm. They’re both on edge. They’re both _ecstatic._

Three relaxes his arm from Kierken’s throat. The hand flattens on Kierken’s chest, traces his skin through his shirt. His neckline points in a v, showing a tease of hair and collarbone.

Kierken licks his lips, maybe weighing options. He decides on a shove, and Three is ready for it. He grabs the guy’s shirt and barrels him against the wall. Kierken takes a shot at his face, but Three moves; he’s not faster, but he’s quicker than Kierken thinks. Kierken twists under Three’s hands, he’s not stronger, but his shots hurt more than Three expects.

They rip and throw fists and shove and slam. Bodies hit walls and struggle over the grated ground. The supply door is cold and makes pain flare through Three’s back. The lock gives, and the door squeals open. Three stumbles in, staggering to his feet. He’s got the low angle, and when Kierken pulls him, he strikes. Knuckles connect to jaw. Kierken lets him go, loses a step.

Three’s made more out of less. He’s on Kierken immediately. Pins him on the wall, fists full of his shirt. There’s blood on Kierken’s mouth; Three split his lip. It wells cherry red, curled in a pleased smile.

Three is grinning too. He’s missed good, old fashioned brawls. None of Ryo’s underhanded crap. No black oil aliens. No time loops, future seers, or corps and colonies at war. Fists and blood, that's it. It's what Three is good at, the way the galaxy should be.

“I think you want to come with me,” Three coaxes. “You want to be on the Raza.” His fingers scale the longest of Kierken’s scars from his temple down the side of his face. “You have to know what’s going on. It's in your DNA, man.” Kierken smacks Three's hand away. Three grabs the arm that pushed him, twists it back. Kierken scowls, finally looking more angry than inconvenienced. Three chases the look, grabs fists full of his shirt, and Kierken turns, pushing. Three hits the wall.

A fading light blinks above their heads. Three’s side flares with fresh bruises, and he tastes blood on his tongue. Kierken pins him down, hands on his shoulders. Three bites the bloody smirk on his face, Kierken huffs and fights back.

Somewhere in the middle, it stops hurting. The pain recedes into a general soreness, warm and open-mouthed. Three tastes blood that's his, and blood that isn't. Kierken weighs him down, and Three pushes up defiantly.

“So,” Three grumbles as they shift and struggle, “what are your thoughts on anal?”

“Shut up,” Kierken mutters.

Three grins. "How bout, you get me off, I give you the lowdown on Ishida's deal with Ferrous. Seems fair to me."

Kierken's one seeing eye cuts through him, dark and angry. "You're not as smart as you think you are," he warns.

Three would believe him too, if he didn't already feel the tug of Kierken's fingers on his zipper.

***

Two wants to murder him. Three has seen her mad, but not like this. This is one tripped wire short of a full-on meltdown.

Three knows better than to gloat; Two is right, he's way out of line on this one. But he can’t stop grinning like the cat that stole the canary.

“So you... _found_ him?” Five is wide-eyed, Six is somewhere between bewildered and stunned.

The Android clicks the cell wall into place. She may be a robot, but she looks awfully pleased with herself for putting the finishing touches on the capture. Kierken sighs on the other side of the shield. He’s bloody, bruised, and annoyed; they're all good looks for him. But Three is most taken by the spark in his good eye, something defiant, determined. Something to build on.

Kierken's one-eyed glare trails Three and an irate Two out of the infirmary. Three can’t deal with him, not yet anyway. The boss comes first if he wants to keep his head attached to his body 

“Lemme explain.” Three raises his hands in contrition.

“This is ridiculous," Two tells him, "even for you.”

“Come on.” Three coaxes. “You’ve gotta admit, he’ll have the goods on the GA. And you’ve seen the guy in action. We get him on our side, he’ll be one hell of an asset.”

Two shakes her head. "You're not wrong, but next time? You get our buy-in before you bring someone on our ship.” Two looks him over knowingly. “Ex-GA on board isn't your call.”

“You got it, boss,” Three assures, smile sweet as ever. "Bad call on my part. Won’t happen again.”

Two doesn’t buy it by her flat, skeptical stare. But she doesn’t fight him either, just continues down the hallway. “He stays in there until he talks.”

“No problemo!”

“That means you keep it in your pants, Three.” Her voice carries enough for the comms to pick up. A quiet ‘wait, what?’ (Six) and ‘seriously?’ (Five) answer from the infirmary.

Three sighs and heads for his quarters. He had that coming, but he’s still smiling, still rubbing his hands together as he considers the possibilities.

This is a terrible idea, no doubt. But as far as his bad ideas go, it's turning out way better than expected.

*The End*


End file.
